Might it be wanted that I use,
My voluptuous words to sing praises,
Of the world and all earthly things,
To perform for pleasure only.
Might it not be wanted for me to do so?
Fine velour and velvet,
Tapestries of linen and silk,
Weaved in marvelous weaves on looms of earth and pleasure.
Silky skin feeling silk on skin smoothly rippling along raising hairs on end,
Might I not indulge myself and might it not be wanted so?
I swoon at the temptation to string my words along my harp,
Of the delicacies of the world,
Of temptations deep and wicked and sweet,
Ripe to be picked and squeezed and juiced.
Tapestries spread out shimmering and perfumed,
Invite me to recline and sing the siren song,
Lull myself to excited stupor.
Revel in raven hair and worldly song of self.
To weave in worldly pleasure,
So easily enticed with luscious fruits,
So seductive to the eyes and ears and skin and senses to feel and feast upon.
Oh world you hunger deliciously,
Might we not feast upon each other?
But rather the Lord should feast upon me.
Rather I weave for His pleasure alone.
Rather I sing velvet for Him alone.
Finer fruit I choose to reap.
Holy fruit to nourish my soul.
I satisfy myself in His spiritual satisfaction.
If I am His, then so be it, and let me be it, to the utter last stitch.
Let me weave with harp and song His desires alone,
Clothe me with the fine linen of His word and His love alone,
Trappings of brilliant fabric of salvation draped upon me,
Heaven not from me,
Yet through Him all things heavenly.